**Wrote this tonight in a bar on a napkin with a pen borrowed from the bar tender. There you go...Thanks for reading.**
The lone pine stands along on the hill;
All around are strands and clumps of its kin,
Hugging the rim of the mound.
Why did it grow here?
How had the seed fallen so far from comfort?
The winds rage through relentlessly;
Without the shelter of its peers,
It becomes stripped of its needles
And buckles under the pressure assuming a crooked stance.
Alone it creeks, alone it hunches,
Until, one day, it falls;
Nothing can come to help...
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